


Stay

by aww_writing_no



Series: Winterhawk Week 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 13:56:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20743316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aww_writing_no/pseuds/aww_writing_no
Summary: When Bucky meets Clint, he's pretty sure he's going to be the one to get him killed.For Winterhawk Week Day Two.





	Stay

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Bucky hissed at Steve, eyeing up the tall blond man who had just sauntered into the canteen like he owned the place. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “That’s Corporal Barton. You’d best get used to him quick, ‘cause he’s joining the team. He’s here to replace Morita.” 

Morita, their munitions guy, had gone home in a body bag two weeks ago. The army usually replaced them faster, but apparently they were waiting for some hotshot from Iowa to finish his leave. 

“You better watch out,” Steve continued as Bucky tore his eyes away from Barton, “rumor is he’s an expert marksman.” 

Bucky growled, low and threatening in the way that often made the Privates turn tail and run. “He better not be gettin’ any ideas.” 

“Are you jealous?” Steve laughed. “I don’t know any mission that couldn’t benefit from some extra perimeter support. You should be glad for the help.” 

Bucky was about to snap back with something nasty when Corporal Barton dropped his tray on the table with a loud clatter. 

“Hey,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Clint Barton, the new Corporal on your team.” 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied, grasping Clint’s hand in a firm handshake. 

“Nice to meet you Staff Sergeant Rogers,” Clint said before turning to offer his hand to Bucky. 

Bucky accepted the hand and resisted the urge to squeeze as hard as he could. “James Barnes,” he said, and saw Steve raise an eyebrow at him. “But everyone calls me Bucky,” he amended. 

“Bucky?” Clint said, pressing his lips together in a poorly concealed smile. 

“Wanna make something of it, Iowa?” 

Clint’s face brightened in a bigger smile. “You know where I’m from!” he said, clearly delighted. 

“Yeah, I also hear you think you’re some kind of marksman,” Bucky growled, significantly less delighted. “If you plan on takin’ my spot as team sniper, you better be ready for a fight.” 

To his disgust, Barton just laughed at him. “Oh man, don’t you know not to trust the Army rumor mill? Sure, I’m a decent shot, but somebody forgot to tell you my range weapon of choice is a bow. Your brooding sniper role is safe from me, dude.” 

Bucky blinked, torn between annoyance and curiosity. 

“You ever need a spotter, though, I’m your man,” Barton continued. “My hearing may be shit, but I’ve got great eyes.” 

It was Steve’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Your hearing…” he trailed off, questioning. 

Barton shrugged. “You get blown up enough times, your hearing tends to go.” He turned his head to show off a slim beige hearing aid tucked behind his left ear. 

“The fuck?!” Bucky burst out, turning to address Steve. “Who put him on our team? He’s gonna get us fucking killed, man.” 

Clint’s shoulders slumped. “I’m more likely to get myself blown up first,” he said quietly into his green beans. 

“Oh, ‘cause that’s so much better!” Bucky shouted, throwing his hands in the air. They’d just lost one teammate. They didn’t need to lose another one because he shouldn’t have even been in the goddamn army in the first place. 

“Bucky…” Steve said warningly. 

Bucky pushed himself away from the table, chair sliding back with a loud screech. “No, Steve,” he snapped, trying to tone down his rage and probably not succeeding. “I’ll work with the guy because I have to, but I’m not tryin’ to make friends with someone who’s likely to get us all killed.”   
……….

It ends up being a routine patrol when everything goes to shit. Bucky’s driving the Humvee when Clint shouts “watch out!” and the world flips upside down. 

When the world comes to a stop he’s hanging upside down by his seatbelt strap and he must have hit his head on the steering wheel because his face feels like a giant mass of pain. He blinks and tries to swallow but ends up coughing violently, mouth full of sand and grit. 

He’s not sure what happens next, but he figures he must have passed out because he’s no longer inside the vehicle. Steve’s on his left side doing something to his arm, and somebody’s screaming bloody murder. After a second Bucky realizes that it’s him. 

He’s halfway to turning his head to see what Steve’s doing when he feels a strong hand grab his chin and Clint’s face materializes before him. 

“Stay with me, Bucky,” Clint tells him. 

Bucky’s not sure if he responds because whatever Steve’s doing with his arm hurts like hell and he struggles against Clint’s hold, desperate to see what’s going on. 

“Don’t look at him,” Clint says, “look at me. You’re gonna be okay, just stay with me, Bucky.” 

Bucky’s not sure why Clint keeps telling him to stay with him. They don’t even like each other, and Bucky’s clearly not going anywhere right now. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Steve gives a final twist to what Bucky’s pretty sure is a tourniquet on his arm and he lets out a scream instead. 

“Come on Bucky, stay with me here,” Clint repeats as Bucky’s vision starts to grey at the edges. “Steve will kill me if you fucking die, and I’m supposed to get you killed, not the other way around.” 

Bucky wants to answer, to tell Clint how much he sucks at pep talks, that he never really thought Clint would get him killed, but he can’t seem to get the words out. The last thing he feels before his greying vision darkens to black are Clint’s fingers twining around his own. 

“Stay with me Bucky,” Clint’s voice echos as he fades into the blackness. “You gotta stay with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, Bucky definitely makes it. 
> 
> (He still claims Clint's going to be the death of him, but for an entirely different reason.)


End file.
